On the shores of the Great Sea
by Moringotho-in-Angamando
Summary: While many think that Finarfin was craven to remain in Valinor, was it really so? Did he really take the easy way out? Characters include pretty much the whole house of Finwe at the time of the Darkening.


My first fanfic in this fandom! As the Silm. fandom has less works than the Harry Potter fandom, and this work of mine is more likely to be read, any comments would be appreciated. Even if you want to be like Fingolfin and will comment just to kill me! Constructive criticism is welcome!

Since this is written from the point of view of Finarfin, who would have used Quenya in his thoughts, I have provided a list of the characters, with their names in Quenya and in Sindarin as they appear in the Silmarillion, in the end. Please correct me if any are wrong, I must know my enemies.

By request, this may become a series. Prompts or where to find them are welcome.

Finally, I wish to express thanks to, Sophia the Scribe, who inspired this work and later beta-read it for me. Thanks again!

* * *

There has been nothing but horror since the Darkness came. It was more than a lack of light, but a thing of its own that overpowered it. It seemed to fill our hearts and our minds, making the bravest cower in fear, the strongest stand powerless as disaster unfolded before our eyes. And it was with us even as Feanáro woke from the daze, and revolted against the Valar, and as Tirion the fair grew empty in the night. And even after the Kinslaying at Alqualonde, where we slew the people of Olwë, our kin, and stole their boats, even then it was with us.

In that Darkness I was forced to make a decision, one that would rob me either of the very memory of light or of my was a hard decision. My reverence for the Valar was fighting in me with the desire to go to Endorë, a desire that my half-brother's words had kindled. A small, easily hidden part of me has always thirsted for knowledge, and for adventure. Yet peace and reverence for the Valar have always dominated it. Now the adventurous part of me that was Noldorin was fighting against the peaceful, obedient Vanyarin part that came from my mother.

What Feanáro said doubtlessly held truth. The memory of his words alone inspired even me, Arafinwë, to forget my usual calm, to rush to Endorë, to have revenge on Moringotho. But my mind was torn when it came to the Valar. I have known them as sacred for my whole life, and the idea of revolt, of hatred, of mere distrust stung my heart. It seemed altogether wrong. Yet indeed, it was a disaster that they were unable to prevent. And Moringotho was their kin, after all…

No, nonsense! The actions of kin have nothing to do with one's own actions… It was not in my power to stop Feanáro, and it was not in theirs to stop Moringotho…

But could they not have done more? Saved Atar, or at least the Silmarilli? Not that I cared about them, but still… was it that hard to leave something to Feanáro, to hold him back from such complete despair? They were the Powers, for the sake of Eru, they must have been able to do something, anything, to avoid this hell, to light this darkness?

Yet I could, and can, not help but realize that Feanáro has been touched by some madness, that some darkness has held his mind. And while I knew that most of my kin were angry, or insulted, or confused, the only thing I felt then (and do today) was a pity and sadness. For my half-brother was become fey and mad, and his brilliant mind was turned to darkness, and anger, and a lust for vengeance that overpowered and overwhelmed all the good that was in him.

But I had a duty to my people. I could not forsake them, as I could not forsake my love for the Valar. I could not go against their orders, I could not leave my people leaderless, I could not!

Yet I also could not forget my brothers. Nolofinwë and Feanáro, who I grew up with, were a part of my life as much as the light of the Trees. I could not just forsake them to whatever awaits them in Endorë, to face the wrath of Moringotho alone.

I have followed them, afraid that I should lose them forever, until Námo's message. It seemed now that I had no choice. Some of my people wanted to go back, I could see that. That left no choice other than to go with them. The Valar were our only protection in this dark world, I had to go back! My people needed someone to follow, a king. And it no longer mattered that Feanáro and Nolofinwë would scorn me, as much as it would hurt. It was my choice, I had the right to take it, did I not?

* * *

Parting from my brother and my half-brother was harder than it should have been. Probably because I knew, or maybe it was just something in me, something greater, that realized that I would never see them again, or at least until long ages have passed…

Feanáro looked at me with disdain, and Nolofinwë with pity. I knew that they would not understand that besides the want for adventure, and the keeping of oaths, there was duty to one's people. They thought I was craven, and any arguments I had went down into stuttering. They would not understand; nay, they could not, for it was not in their nature.

On my way to my people, I said farewell to my other kin. The sons of Feanáro did not understand; only Maitimo, as always understanding or at least diplomatic said with a sad smile:

"So it is true, Uncle. Atar has called you craven, but I do not think so. I myself might have decided so, if it were not for the Oath. Farewell, Uncle," he said. And then he suddenly met my eyes. They were unclouded with his father's madness, and I saw compassion in them. "I do not judge you," he said quietly, and then even more quietly, so quietly I doubted that he said it indeed. "Tell Amil that I love her, and that I regret… all of this. I wish this whole… mess never happened. My Eru's good will be on you, as it shall never be on me and on Atar. Farewell, Arafinwë, for truly noble you proved." In that final moment, before he turned away, I took in his appearance: the red hair, pale skin, grey eyes shining with a light more radiant than any save his father's. And I saw in that moment that he was to achieve great things in Endorë, yet go through pain greater than I could comprehend. He smiled to me then with a smile that did not reach his eyes, and returned to his tent, leaving me alone in the cold.

Findekáno barely gave me a glance, as he was rushing on some errand of his father's. At my words he turned to me, and gave me a quick embrace. His thoughts seemed far away as he whispered to me to keep our people well. Turukáno gave me a thoughtful gaze and said that perhaps it was for the best. I kissed young Itarildë, who was holding on to his side, clearly confused at all the things that had happened in such a short time. I left with a heavy heart. It could not be right to abandon my people, yet how could it be right to leave my children, and my nephews, and this little girl who did not know how much her life was going to change?

Saying farewell to my own children I found the hardest. Angaráto and Aikanáro took the news well, Artaresto shed a few tears. They pretended to understand though I knew that they did not. Yet they wished me the best of luck and I sincerely wished the same to them. Artanis looked at me with grief, but there was scorn there too, and an injured pride. Yet she remained civil, though I could tell that she was disappointed in me. And then her eyes alighted with a flame as always when moments of prophecy were upon one of us, and she said:

"Though we part now for long Ages, I shall look upon your face once more, for though we do not agree on this, you remain my father and I love you! Go before my words and my heart fail me, and do not forget that your children shall love you as long as they live!"

Findaráto seemed to be the only one to truly understand. He too seemed torn of mind, and it was one of the moments when I saw all too clearly how similar he was to me - not only in appearance, but in heart and mind as well. But he was determined to go, and I stopped my attempts at convincing him early on, seeing the pain it caused him. Kissing him on the forehead for what proved to be the last time in many long years, I left the encampment. I did not expect to see any of them ever again, and I was nearly right in that. Nearly.

* * *

It was only after several ages had passed, that I saw one of them return. By then, life was stable once more. The days were counted by the rise and fall of the Sun and the Moon, and the Noldor prospered under my rule, and Tirion was rebuilt; yet I was not truly happy, for through all of these ages I have been longing to see my children again: to hear their fair voices, to touch them again. I knew that it was my choice and was beginning to believe that it was, after all, wrong, when a messenger came to me from the gardens of Lórien, bidding me to go there. I did, and that day was my happiest since the Darkening. For my eldest stood before me, and he was as beautiful as ever, though grief and pain and some sort of hardness that I have never seen before were graven into his eyes.

We talked long that evening, and he told me of all that befell my kin in Endorë, and listened to what seemed like way too little of what I had to say about those under my rule. But even as I listened to the descriptions of his life in Endorë, I realized that my decision had been right. Such as life was not for everyone, and definitely not for me. And as we looked upon the stars of Varda that night, he looked at me, and suddenly all the long years fell back. All the grief was accounted for, and my son was at my side, and though our hurts were not healed, the hope arose in me that they could be. Perhaps it would take ages, and lots of hard work, but there was hope.

Finis

* * *

Please note that I do not trouble myself too much with learning the languages of Quendi, and therefore do not know in which language some of the given are. Still, there are the names, in the order in which they appear:

Feanáro - Feanor

Endorë - Middle-earth. I am not sure it is the correct language though :(

Arafinwë - Finarfin

Moringotho - Morgoth, for the full understanding of my pen-name.

Atar - Father, though I am unsure of the language

Silmarilli - Silmarils

Nolofinwë - Fingolfin

Námo is more commonly known as Mandos

Maitimo - Maedhros

Amil - Mother, again unsure of language

Findekáno - Fingon

Turukáno - Turgon

Itarildë - Idril

Angaráto - Angrod

Aikanáro - Aegnor

Artaresto - Orodreth (I believe he was the son of Finarfin)

Artanis - Galadriel

Findaráto - Finrod


End file.
